


Reporting for Duty

by sabrina_il (marina)



Series: NHL a/b/o + kneeling AU fusion [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dildos, Impulse Control, Knotting, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mentors, Orgasm Delay, Sex Education, Sex Toys, Sex Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/pseuds/sabrina_il
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson and Latta and an omega in heat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reporting for Duty

**Author's Note:**

> This is the porny sequel to the earlier fic in this series! It is still entirely tanndell's fault (OMG she gave me so many headcanons about other NHLers and teams in this verse!)
> 
> Beta by the lovely the_ragnarok_d and teshumai.

Tom has always liked Andre. He’s one of the chillest, friendliest, most outgoing omegas Tom’s ever met. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Andre was a beta. 

But as nice as he is, Tom knows being friends with him is a bad idea. They’ll go out for burgers occasionally, make each other laugh on the bench, but anything more than that would be a little too risky. Tom’s still navigating the whole being an alpha in the NHL thing, and Andre’s figuring his own omega shit out, so. It’s better for both of them if they stick to hanging out with veterans or betas. 

Which is why Tom is totally unprepared when Andre finds him and Lats after a game against Pittsburgh - where they crush Sidney Crosby’s fucking team and Tom gets a fucking assist - and asks if they’d be okay with helping him through his next heat. 

Lats freezes with his shirt half pulled over his head, face invisible. Tom tries to come up with words but can’t get past a few stuttering sounds. 

“It’s okay,” Andre says, his accent almost unnoticeable. “Nicky will supervise,” he shrugs, pointing at Backie sitting further down the bench. Backie gives him and Lats a nod and a look that says he’s definitely taking this more seriously than Andre’s casual attitude would indicate, and goes back to toweling off his hair. 

“Um,” Tom says. “That’s…”

“We’ll be there,” Lats says. His cheeks are ruddy, but Tom can’t tell if that’s just the residual heat from the shower. “Whenever you want us.”

*

It happens last minute - obviously, heats are never 100% predictable, despite the legends about Sidney Crosby’s running like clockwork - Backie texts them around noon on an off day in Dallas, telling them both to be at Andre’s room ASAP. Thank god Lats is a lazy asshole and they were only just getting ready to go out for breakfast.

Tom isn’t ready when Backie lets them into Andre’s room. He probably should have been, it probably makes him a bad alpha, but the smell is too overpowering - like strong coffee, with cinnamon and spices mixed in - permeating every pore of Tom’s skin, coiling around his brain and making it hard to think. His cock aches, a dull throb where a second ago he didn’t even have a semi. He leans a hand on the wall and digs his fingers into the white paint because he needs something to hold on to, something to ground him, and it’s better than sinking his claws into Lats, who’s clearly struggling as it is, eyes wild and jaw clenched tight. 

Backie gives them both a once-over, appraising them, and Tom thinks that if he’s found wanting he’ll probably be sent back to his room. And god, that would be _the worst_. They’re just starting to trust him with more shifts - he’ll definitely get downgraded to a healthy scratch or something if he can’t prove himself to Backie. If he can’t even control himself when he can’t _see_ the omega in heat. 

But Backie must be satisfied with them, for now, because he moves aside, stepping further inside the room, and suddenly Tom has a clear view. Andre’s lying on the bed, dressed in nothing but a blue t-shirt, with his knees spread wide and _holy mother of god_ he’s pushing a dildo into himself. Tom closes his eyes and tries to breathe, but the image is stuck behind his eyelids. The dildo’s thick and bright red and Andre’s got it halfway into himself. From the looseness of his movement, from his expression, Tom knows he’s been fucking himself with it for a while. The smell of spicy coffee burns in Tom’s throat. 

The sound of fingers snapping at him makes Tom open his eyes. Backie’s looking back at him, giving him another hard, appraising look. “Wilson?”

“I’m good,” Tom says, swallowing. His voice sounds rough to his own ears. Lats shoots him a worried look. 

Backie seems satisfied. “Strip,” he says, looking from Tom to Lats. 

Tom can’t get his clothes off fast enough, practically ripping the buttons off his shirt before he tosses it on the floor. He doesn’t know how this is all supposed to work, the two of them and one Andre, but he’s not about to start asking questions. 

Andre and Backie exchange a few words in Swedish - Tom doesn’t catch any of it except Backie’s final “ja” accompanied by a nod. Fuck, Tom is not multilingual enough to keep up with this team. 

“Get on the bed,” Backie says, turning to look at Tom again.

“Just me?” Tom says, suddenly conscious of the anxious expression on Lats’ face. 

Backie’s face turns more serious. Shit. “Yes, you.”

Tom doesn’t hesitate again. He climbs on the mattress, kneeling at the foot of the bed, unsure of what to do. His hands itch, his thighs itch, every cell in his body wants to drown in Andre’s scent. From the corner of his eyes he can see Backie whispering something in Lats’ ear, see Lats head off for the bathroom, but that’s the last thing he registers before all his attention narrows down to Andre.

Andre gives him a slightly anxious smile before pulling out the dildo and Tom can’t help the whimper that escapes him when he sees it’s modeled after an alpha dick - with a thick knot in the middle. Fuck, is that thing bigger than his own knot? Tom’s not sure. What if his dick isn’t enough for Andre? He’s been worried about being too rough, going too fast, but what if all the roughness and speed in the world won’t be able to make up for how inadequately small Tom’s knot is? He doesn’t even know what an average knot looks like - they never talked about that during the presentations at school. 

Backie’s hand is on the back of his neck, snapping Tom out of his thoughts. Backie’s eyes are calm and solid; his steady breathing makes Tom realize he’s practically hyperventilating. 

Tom tries to take a deep breath. 

“Take it easy,” Backie says, and when he breaks eye contact Tom looks back at Andre, who’s now on his hands and knees on the bed. His ass is… God his ass is _slick_. Soft and wet and already stretched by the dildo. Tom wishes he could bury his face in that deep, rich scent, smear Andre’s juices all over his face before he slides into him. Tom turns his head to look at Backie again, pleading with his eyes. 

Backie looks down at Tom’s dick, which, wow, yeah, is so hard it’s practically bobbing against Tom’s stomach. 

“Another time,” Backie says, and moves away. 

“Come on,” Andre says, sounding impatient. He lifts his hips even higher, which exposes his hole even more. God, Tom can see the slick ooze out of him. 

Tom grabs his dick and puts it against Andre’s opening, gritting his teeth to avoid slamming all the way in in one go. Doesn’t matter how many plastic knots Andre’s just fucked himself with, Tom only has a spot on this team because he’s not that kind of alpha. He has control, and fucking poise, and patience. 

He slides his dick in slowly, easily, meeting no resistance from Andre’s body, and by the time he’s halfway inside Tom’s eyes are trying to roll all the way into his head. His whole body’s tingling, he can’t tell if his dick is even attached to him anymore or if he and Andre’s ass have merged into one, perfect being. 

He keeps sinking deeper; gradually he realizes the keening sound he’s hearing is coming from his own mouth. He slides both hands against Andre’s back and bites his lip to keep himself quiet. When he’s finally all the way inside, pelvis pressed against Andre’s skin, moving is unthinkable. Tom’s so revved up already, if he tries pulling out now he’ll surely come. He just wants to stay here, with the waves of pleasure washing over his limbs, running his hands over Andre’s sweaty skin.

Andre moves against him, pushing his hips back, urging Tom to move. Fuck, he’s such a shitty alpha, who the fuck just slides their dick in and stays there? That’s some creepy shit. Tom closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, preparing to move, and Andre grabs one of his roaming hands and pulls it down - not to his crotch but to his… chest? He puts Tom’s hand between his pecs, slides the palm over the left one - oh, Tom can feel his heartbeat. Fuck. No, it’s probably all in Tom’s head - this isn’t a real thing that can happen during heat? Tom’s dick isn’t some medical device broadcasting Andre’s vitals back to him? 

But it feels like it - like he can feel the quick, heavy pounding, and his hips want to keep up with it. Tom finally pulls back and then thrusts back in, making Andre groan. 

Tom closes his eyes again and kisses Andre’s shoulder blades, licks up the the scent he’s already drowning in and fucks Andre in hard, thorough thrusts. His dick feels like it’s going to explode but Tom breathes in deep and pushes in and out again, and in and out, until finally there’s nothing but the roaring of Andre’s heart and and the smell of coffee and the sound of moans and whimpers and something coiled so tight in Tom’s stomach he can’t bear it anymore. 

“Can I…” he tries to say, and it sounds like a plea even to his own ears. “Is it…” but the words are lost in his head. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Backie’s voice says, and Tom barely hears the last word before he’s coming, balls aching, buried in Andre to the hilt. 

He moans through it, feeling his knot swell up, and falls to his side, taking Andre with him, settling into a more sustainable position before their bodies lock up. He runs his hands over Andre’s chest, dips his fingers into the warm jizz smeared on Andre’s stomach, kisses the arc of Andre’s ear and the hair on the back of his head and the part where Andre’s neck’s meets his shoulder. 

It’s not until Andre’s breathing settles, and Tom has tasted every part of him he can reach that Tom’s brain registers the weird noises he can’t account for. Andre’s breathing quietly, and Tom’s not making any sounds, so where is the soft moaning coming from?

He sits higher on the bed, making sure not to disturb Andre’s position too much, and then he sees it. 

Lats, naked, on his knees on the floor next to the bed, riding a purple dildo. 

Tom gasps. If he could get hard right now, this would definitely do it, and he doesn’t even know what to do with that knowledge. 

Lats is moaning softly, eyes closed, sinking slowly down on the dildo before rising back up again. Backie’s sitting next to him, still fully clothed, watching him intently. At Tom’s gasp Backie puts a hand against the back of Lats’ neck and Lats opens his eyes. He’s looking straight ahead at the wall. He’d have to turn to look at the bed, and apparently Backie doesn’t want that happening right now. 

“Is… is that…” Tom can’t help himself. Watching Lats fuck a dildo while Tom’s got his knot buried in a teammate is too surreal, he can’t stay quiet. 

“Feels good, Wilson, don’t worry,” Backie says, meeting Tom’s eyes. “You’re up next, in about…” Backie’s eyes sweep over Andre. “Ten minutes.”

Tom suddenly feels breathless, like he’s had the air knocked out of his lungs. _Backie’s going to make him take a dildo_. No, not make him. Tom can walk away from this if he wants, he knows that. It’s just… getting penetrated. Like an omega. Tom’s barely dared to even watch porn of stuff like this, and most of the actors in those movies aren’t even real alphas. 

He’s supposed to be a tool, service the needs of his omega, not… do this. Nice Canadian alpha boys aren’t even supposed to think about shit like this. He’s pretty sure just mentioning it gets you a suspension at any decent Alpha Academy. 

“It helps,” Backie explains, hand still casually pressed against Lats’ neck. “With control and stamina. Knowing a little bit about what it feels like for an omega.”

Tom wants to trust him, but all he can think is that if he takes a dildo right now, in front of three of his teammates, he’ll never be able to forget it. Like, he knows he can control himself and not get weird around Andre the next time they shower together, or the next time Andre’s in heat. Tom’s worked his whole life to make sure he’ll be able to handle that shit when he gets to the NHL and he’s going to do everything not to blow it. 

But this… how does he act normal after this, like nothing happened?

Except the choice is already out of his hands - Lats is here, fucking himself in front of them, trusting Tom not to fuck it up. 

Andre moves against him, and Tom realizes his knot has gone down. And that Andre’s hard again. Jesus fucking Christ. Tom slips out as gently as he can, feeling his come lazily pouring out of Andre’s ass as soon as he withdraws. Tom couldn’t get it up again right now if he were offered a Stanley Cup and a blowjob from Jonathan Toews. How the fuck do alphas keep up with their omegas in a steady relationship?

Some of his dismay must show on his face because Backie gives him a wry smile as Tom sits up on the bed. 

“Takes practice,” Backie says, before bending down to say something in Lats’ ear. Lats nods and stills in his thrusts. It’s only now Tom realizes how hard Lats is - how he must have been here, watching them this whole time, not touching his dick while Tom was fucking Andre right in front of him. God, Tom’s not sure he could have done it. Lats is so fucking amazing. 

Andre stands on his knees on the bed, pulling Tom into a kiss. It’s sweet and lazy and Tom’s grateful for it. 

“Thank you,” Andre says, and Tom wants to reply _that’s my line_ but it sounds stupid. His brain can’t come up with anything else. 

“I’m ready for another one now,” Andre says, smiling at Backie. 

Lats takes a deep breath, dildo lying beside him, and finally looks over to the bed. He’s panting, red flush going from his cheeks to his pecs. Tom’s never seen him like this, and he suddenly wants to kiss him more than anything. 

That wouldn’t be fair to Lats though, who’s currently staring at Andre like he’s all there is in the universe. 

“Go, switch,” Backie says, giving Lats a slap on the back. 

Reluctantly, Tom gets off the bed as Lats climbs on, eyes locked with Andre. They start by kissing, which - why didn’t Tom think of that? Ugh, Lats always has the best ideas. 

“Come on,” Backie says, putting an arm around Tom and leading him towards the bathroom.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I'd Appreciate Your Input](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820555) by [DefaltManifesto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefaltManifesto/pseuds/DefaltManifesto)
  * [Dream the Right Dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893047) by [Ferritin4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferritin4/pseuds/Ferritin4)




End file.
